Not a Snake Charmer
by Spartangal22
Summary: He never actually told Sherlock that he didn't hate Charles Augustus Magnussen. Because he hates Charles Augustus Magnussen. Mycroft reflects on his own interactions with Magnussen and wonders if he made a mistake somewhere along the way.


Did he hate Charles Augustus Magnussen? Short answer: Yes, he did.

The long answer, well, by definition, that was a bit more complicated.

One might wonder how hate can be complicated. It was a powerful emotion, void of logic or reason, far down the emotional spectrum that Mycroft so carefully avoided. Most people believed that love lay on the opposite end of that spectrum, but most people were stupid. Psychoanalysis's like those by Freud and Klein suggested that there really was, to quote that old cliché, a thin line between love and hate. The emotions were closely linked, integrated, and if love made you weak, then hate made you blind.

Perhaps that was what had happened. Perhaps he had a made a mistake. He'd have to scrutinize the decisions that led up to this chain of events in a few months. Well, not a few months – "a few," when referring to months, generally implied about half a year, and in half a year, he might be more emotionally compromised that he was accustomed to being.

Mycroft sighed and folded the newspaper (_Not Magnussen's newspaper because Magnussen was dead._) "BORED DETECTIVE BEGINS MAKING BODIES." He rolled his eyes at the "clever" headline. How did people tolerate being so stupid all the time?

Magnussen hadn't been stupid, though. Oh, no. He'd been…not clever, exactly, but perceptive. He'd noticed things. Sherlock thought him a shark – Mycroft, as usual, knew better. He was a snake. Most people couldn't identify a poisonous snake from a garden snake and he'd depended on that to hide himself amongst civilized society, before creeping into houses at night and biting people when they least expected it, paralyzing them, forcing them to succumb to his will. _And just ask Lady Smallwood about his tongue_. The problem was that Sherlock was a dragon slayer, not a snake charmer.

Not for the first time, Mycroft reflected on his own interactions with Magnussen. There had only been two, before that fateful day when his little brother had put a bullet in the man's brain. The first had been on Mycroft's terms (or so he'd believed at the start.) Magnussen had been making a bit of a stir with a rather low ranking member of the royal family. Nothing like Irene Adler had, but enough to catch Mycroft's attention. He'd scheduled an appointment with Magnussen's personal assistant (not his brother's faux fiancé; a different young woman at the time. He wasn't sure what had happened to her) and Magnussen very cooperatively agreed to meet him in his office. His first mistake, looking back, had been not insisting that they meet at _Mycroft's _office. One should never walk directly to the snake's nest.

Mycroft's initial impression of Magnussen had been rather underwhelming. He was no more than average height, the proper weight, slightly balding, rather ordinarily built, and dressed like the businessman he was so fond of referring to himself as.

"Hello Mr. Holmes," he'd said, not rising from his seat behind his desk, not extending his hand, not offering Mycroft a chair.

"Mr. Magnussen," Mycroft nodded in response. He would not ask for any accommodations. He stood casually near the door, leaning on his umbrella, as if prepared for a brief meeting in which he instructed and Magnussen listened, which, indeed, was exactly what he'd expected.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Mr. Magnussen, it has come to my attention that you and a member of the royal family, who neither of us need to name, have been having some…difficulties lately."

Magnussen raised an eyebrow and gave a small half smile. "I've had no difficulties at all, Mr. Holmes."

"But you've been proving difficult to our mutual friend."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, his voice level.

"I believe we can come to terms that make this situation easier for both of us."

"Oh, but Mr. Holmes, what would be my motivation to do that? As I said, I'm facing no difficulties."

Mycroft had been mildly amused at this point. "But you will be if you do not cease your interactions with this particular person."

Magnussen was quiet a moment, watching Mycroft thoughtfully. Slowly, he stood up, walked across the room until he was directly in front of Mycroft and he didn't stop. He stepped closer, and closer, until there was barely an inch between them. "What is Sherlock up to these days, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft blinked, his mind readjusting. It wasn't as if Sherlock wasn't nearly omnipresent in his thoughts – just recently he had used Mycroft's ID to break into a top secret military base, once more justifying his need for Mycroft's constant monitoring – and it wasn't as if Sherlock's name didn't come up when he was working, because it did quite often, but he could generally predict when his brother's services would be required. Magnussen was an underling, a slimy newspaperman who Mycroft should have been able to threaten into his place. There was no need to involve Sherlock.

"I'm afraid I don't see how my brother is relevant, Mr. Magnussen," he said after a slight hesitation, which, looking back, he believed was his biggest mistake.

Magnussen smiled through thin lips and took a step back. He reached down and plucked Mycroft's umbrella from his hands, opening and closing it several times. "Little baby brother. Seven years age difference, isn't that right? That's quite a gap, nowadays. It's not quite the normal brotherly relationship, is it? No, you were half-sibling, half-parent. Pushing him down the stairs then bandaging the boo-boos." His voice hadn't changed. He could have been talking about the weather. He twirled the umbrella once, twice, three times, before mimicking Mycroft's early pose and leaning against it casually. "He was your pet, wasn't he? He followed you around like a dog, always eager to please, always loyal. And you…you trained him. You rewarded him."

Mycroft opened his mouth, then shut it. _Like a goldfish_, he reflected. "Mr. Magnussen-"

"No," he shook his head slightly. "Not just a pet. He was more than that. He was your best friend, your only friend." Then Magnussen smiled, really smiled, for the first time. It made him look more reptilian than before. "He still is. Your little baby brother, who you use all of Great Britain's powers to protect, and you always will." He reached into his pocket and removed a small piece of paper. He unfolded it and held it out for both of them to inspect. Mycroft didn't need to look long, though. He knew that picture. Mycroft had been eight years old, Sherlock barely one. The picture featured his brother, just learning to walk, small, already with a head of dark, curly hair, balancing precariously as he made his way to Mycroft, who was slightly overweight, waiting with his arms outstretched to pick the baby up. For perhaps the first time in his life, his mind went blank. He had no idea how Magnussen could have acquired that picture.

Then, perhaps another first, he felt a boiling sensation of hatred bubble in his stomach as Magnussen made a cooing noise and ran his finger along baby Sherlock's head, in a sick imitation of fondness. "It's always been Sherlock, hasn't it? He's your pressure point, Mr. Holmes. Don't bother watching me – best keep both eyes on him." He dropped the umbrella by Mycroft's feet, folding up the picture and kissed it before placing it back in his coat pocket. "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft had left feeling, another first, completely unsettled and beaten. He did not contact Magnussen again about the royal family and when the news broke that the young person in question had been caught doing some things that civilized society frowned upon with two or three or six others, Mycroft turned the page. It was after The Fall, at that point, and what was done was done. Magnussen had nothing to use against him anymore.

Then Sherlock came back and Mycroft, for all his planning, for all his hard work, had neglected to find a solution for the inevitable Magnussen problem. Perhaps that had been intentional, though – he didn't like to think of problems he couldn't solve. His answer, then, was to do nothing. Allow Magnussen to go about his 'business' unimpeded by him, and continue to watch Sherlock as he always had.

Until one day, Magnussen showed up at his house, _sans appointment_, he noted with displeasure. He'd strolled in while Mycroft was filing, eating ice cream from his fridge without a spoon, just sticking his fingers in and scooping it up. Mycroft didn't bother to question how he'd gotten in.

"Good day, Mr. Holmes." He extended the tub of chocolate mint. "Care for some?"

Mycroft hadn't been able to hide the disgust on his face. "What is it, Charles?" No more niceties.

Magnussen laughed lightly. "I just thought I'd stop in to say hello. It has been awhile since we've last seen each other. Of course, you've been busy, what with little Sherlock coming home. You must have been so very, _very_ happy."

"He does have his uses," Mycroft replied nonchalantly.

"Oh, yes, he does." Magnussen set the ice cream on the table, licking his fingers and wiping them on the curtains. "Lady Smallwood seems to think so, too."

This was news to Mycroft, but he'd rather not have Magnussen knowing that. "His services are utilized by many in the government."

"Including, and mostly by, you, of course." Magnussen picked up a file and flipped through it, dropping the papers casually to the ground as he did so. "Does it ever bother you, Mr. Holmes, to think of the danger you put him in? Not doing a very good job protecting him, are you?"

"I don't see how that is your business, but I very much appreciate your concern," Myrcroft said sarcastically.

"Oh, this is not concern, Mr. Holmes, and it is very much my business. Your brother is a bit…shall we say, unpredictable? Reckless?" He waited.

"I suppose both words would be appropriate."

"It would be such a shame if he ever found himself in a situation you couldn't get him out of."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "There is no such situation."

Magnussen smiled that reptilian smile again. "You hope," he said softly. He tore the last page of the file in half and watched the fall to the floor. "He's requested a meeting with me regarding Lady Smallwood. Shall I give him your regards?"

"I can do that myself."

Magnussen shrugged. "If you wish." He glanced over his shoulder as he exited the room. "We get on quite well, don't we, Mr. Holmes?" He waved.

Even then, Mycroft didn't know exactly what Magnussen wanted. Perhaps it simply had been just for Mycroft to leave him alone, in which case his initial visit had been an extraordinary mistake. It hadn't been the security secrets on his laptop that Sherlock had planned to use as a ploy for Magnussen's arrest – even Magnussen could not have predicted that first meeting that Sherlock would do that (his brother was, as they'd both noted, after all, unpredictable and reckless.) Surely, Magnussen would have accepted them if they hadn't meant his arrest, but they weren't his ultimate goal. Likely, he'd just enjoyed demonstrating that, if he ever wanted to, he could control Mycroft like a puppet on a string.

That he could destroy Mycroft like a snake swallowing a mouse (though Mycroft did not like identifying himself as the mouse in that situation.) Or he could have, if Sherlock hadn't destroyed him first. _How ironic_, he thought_, that after years of protecting Sherlock, Sherlock should return the favor like this_. Sherlock had protected him as much as he had John and Mary – protected him in a way that ensured that Mycroft couldn't do the same. Magnussen had been right – this was a situation he couldn't get Sherlock out of.

Mycroft hated him for being right.

* * *

**I've seen some people say that Mycroft was being hypocritical for not doing anything about Magnussen then calling Sherlock a murderer at the end of HLV and sending him to Eastern Europe, but I think the whole point of the episode was that Magnussen was blackmailing Mycroft, maybe not in the same way that he was Lady Smallwood or Mary, but by threatening Sherlock, his "pressure point." At the start of the episode, Sherlock tells Mycroft, "I consider you under his thumb," and I think that's completely accurate - Mycroft let Magnussen go about his business because he didn't know what else to do. **

**As usual, I own nothing, and reviews are very much appreciated. **


End file.
